


the only words I know

by cloudedhues



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, minor smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 12:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudedhues/pseuds/cloudedhues
Summary: They're not a perfect fit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from Tumblr ask: softer world #10: "When you touch me, my mind is gone. The only words I know are lost inside your body. (right in there.)"
> 
> I don't usually post ask prompts here but I ended up liking it more than I expected. So here.

They’re not a perfect fit.

Her nails are too sharp, leaving imprints on his back as they scramble to his bedroom. His arms too long, folding around her small waist like the sharp wings of an origami crane creasing into itself. They arrange together more like paper than the melt of sinew and liquid. But his mouth is hot under hers, distracting and wet, tongue tasting her like he can’t get enough and she feels utterly boneless anyway.

He pulls her to him with surety that hadn’t been apparent before. He’s always been the careful one, the one who stood a good inch back when she took his hand and placed a kiss on the cold metal of his prosthetic where his pulse would have been. But now he’s managed to unwork the buttons of her jacket and peeled it off of her and onto the floor before the back of her legs have even hit his duvet. 

She’s always liked his bedroom. Liked his neat corners and tidy folded blankets. But she throws her head back as his lips seek the shell of her ear, both of them finding anchorage on his bed, and sees her small hand bunching the sheets into wounded knots, making quite a mess of his neat corners. She likes it even more when his follows, entwines with hers shortly afterwards, their joined hands making good work of wrinkling the smoothness of his carefully arranged surfaces.

She’s noticed more and more how often that’s happened.

Wherever she’ll go, he’s never far along behind.

Neither of them are well-versed in romance but this is a language that is older than their own bones. There is something ancient and nameless in the way they roll their hips, in the manner in which Akane will grind back against him to watch his eyebrows scrunch and his lips purse in his efforts to stifle his groans, in the kind of wordless encouragement Ginoza will leave by her ear with sweet depravity. It’s not an accustomed dance but it’s an ingrained one no matter how many times Akane will accidentally jab him on the side with her elbow in the heat of the moment, whisper out a giggled apology at his put-out glare. 

There’s a momentary pause in which they both attempt to strip all their clothes off and Akane has to awkwardly bring herself up to help him with his own pants, nearly choking a little in her amusement while he frowns and narrows his eyes at her in embarrassment. But his knuckles end up brushing the bare skin under her breast as he throws her blouse somewhere in the darkness of his floor and all laughter leaves her. Ginoza crawls on top of her to prop himself up with his hands and knees, his shoulders heaving with every breath, long hair slipped from its tie and spilled forward his pale shoulders like ink and Akane’s momentarily breathless into thinking of all things biblical poetry and other such nonsense. His eyes are carefully on hers, studying her with specific intent and it shoots an electric thrill up her spine to realize that she’s recognized this look before in the most innocuous situations. How many times have they shared lunch, talked about paperwork, discussed the most inane things while he looked at her like this?

 _Like he would take me then and there_ , she thinks. _Eat me alive. And I would have let him._

 _I_ would _let him_.

There is some war going on in his head as he continues to do nothing, probably agonizing over something moralistic and completely not worth the time, and she won’t have that. If he is worried about damaging their purity, it became far too late the second she accidentally bit his lip bloody the first time they attempted to kiss. It’s about time she stopped letting him trail after her. She wants to be right there with him when they break for each other.

With no preamble, she takes his hand down to her dampness, allows him her pleasure as she directs his thumb to brush her clit, a throaty sound she didn’t know she was capable of urging him along to quicken his pace. She had been the first to strip but she can’t help the flush down her body at the weight of gravity his gaze leaves on her bare skin as he takes his time to appreciate the sight of something no one else but him will get to see. But if Ginoza is wary in his attentions, Akane is as efficient in business as ever. 

She lays a hand on his bare chest like a warning before drifting downwards to cup and stroke the bulge of his boxers. She teases, languid and slow. But the effect is instantaneous. Before she can slip past its hem, he’s grasped her waist and turned both of them up so she can sit on his lap. She raises an eyebrow at him as if he is wicked for doing so and his rare, devious look tells her how very aware he is of that. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, pretending that his voice isn’t hoarse, as if this isn’t a question he has probably asked her in his head a million times, as if the outline of his cock isn’t shamelessly pulsing against her inner thigh.

“I think you know where,” she answers and kneads her cunt straight center on him and both of them jolt with a moan at the sensation. She can feel her blood singing ( _more, more, more_ ) – panting against his neck, her hips already working out a rhythm as she frustratedly ruts back and forth on the fabric of his boxers. He chuckles a little at her shamelessness and does both of them a favor by slipping his cock off and sliding it bare on her soaking cunt. It is more, still not enough but tantalizingly closer to something she wants both of them to chase. 

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asks, both of them clinging and moving aimlessly even if it is not yet in the way she wants. She refuses to settle even if the filthy slick of their joining has made a mess of his sheets and she likes to think that from the way his pupils have all but shrouded the green of his eyes and the way his hitched breaths seem to greed for her whimpers that he’d take great pride from the fact.

“I think you know what,” she repeats in an intentional tease.

He gives her a soft, quiet smile, one that crinkles the corner of his eyes and that has her heart racing more than anything either of their want for each other can manifest. She closes her eyes and kisses him sweetly, stealing his breath when she slots herself onto him with a stroke. She lingers but the rest she wants to see. He’s opened his eyes as well, watching her as always in that careful manner as she accommodates both of them. When she starts to move, she realizes that whatever happens from now is not the culmination of what has led them here. Simply a symptom, an added benefit to the fullness she feels in her chest when she looks at him from across the room.

She is too fast. He is too slow. Too headstrong and too cautious. 

They’re not a perfect fit.

But as she laughs in between her moans and he smiles against her shoulder at the mutual clumsiness of their desire, she can find some comfort that at least the one thing they have in common is the one that matters the most to them both.


End file.
